


Sense of Touch

by PennyLane



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:19:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Daniel, for cryin' out loud! What have I told you about touching things!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sense of Touch

**_Sense of Touch - Daniel_ **

One of my earliest memories of Egypt when I was a very young child is of darkness. I don't know that I have ever seen darkness as impenetrable as that of the Egyptian desert at night.

 

My parents were both archaeologists and their field of specialty was Egyptology. It was my great good fortune to be born to people who believed that a family should be together and thought that exposing their child to different cultures and a variety of new experiences could only be good for him. They were right. I loved Egypt. I loved the sights, the smells, the language, the folklore, the incredible antiquity of the place. But at night, in the desert, it was vast and dark and a little frightening for a small child.

 

I remember many times waking up in the middle of the night in a tent surrounded by that incredible, all encompassing darkness and being afraid. But always there was a comforting touch to let me know I wasn't alone, not to be afraid, I was safe.

 

My mother's hands were small and they bore the calluses you would expect from someone who spent a great deal of her waking hours working alongside the native diggers. But they were gentle hands, understanding hands. She understood my fears and she was always there in the darkness, her hand stroking my hair, soothing me back to sleep. I never felt more secure than those times in the darkness when she would promise me with her touch that I was safe.

 

Then I lost that safety, and I was alone in the darkness.

_Funny how those memories are so sharp now and what should be my most recent memories... memories of pain and more darkness... are so confused..._

 

I was alone in the darkness for a long time. I wasn't afraid of the dark any longer, but I was alone.

 

Then, on another planet, I woke up in the middle of the night in a desert to the same darkness I had known as a child. And this time there was another comforting touch, another small, callused hand to let me know I wasn't alone, I was safe, and soothing me back to sleep.

 

Then I lost that safety, too, and again I was alone in the darkness.

 

_Pain... confusion... darkness... more pain... alone... alone..._

 

I don't know exactly when it happened, but then another touch came into my life. There were other planets, other dark, vast nights, momentary disorientation, and always there was a... presence. It was a strong, sometimes silent presence, always nearby, always reassuring, like some indefatigable sentinel always on guard against danger. Sometimes there was conversation, sometimes not. But always there was the promise... I wasn't alone, I was safe.

 

There have been times of terrible pain: of physical craving for a piece of Goa'uld technology that had nearly destroyed me, and my friends; of nights spent in an infirmary fighting for my life after some mishap off-world. And there have been times of a different kind of searing pain: memories I couldn't deny, my DNA taken by a Goa'uld queen to produce new larvae; the nightmares that wouldn't stop after being forced to relive my parents' deaths over and over again to provide entertainment on an alien planet; the incredible aftermath of depression that descended when I returned from Abydos the second time after having delivered my wife of Apophis' baby and losing her again; the even darker depression that enveloped me after my not-so-gentle visit to Mental Health.

 

It was like being thrown into that same darkness that had frightened me as a child.

 

But... then there was that new touch that had entered my life. Callused hands again, but these were large and strong, and surprisingly gentle. These hands supported me while I sobbed in a storeroom from a pain that seemed to be tearing my body apart, called me from my nightmares, gripped my hand when I sank deeper and deeper into some fever-of-unknown-origin and was fighting for my life, pulled me out of my lab when I'd forget to eat, plied me with beer and pizza on those nights when I couldn't bear to be alone.

 

These hands promised: I wasn't alone in the darkness, I was safe.

 

_Hot... hard to think... why was it so hot? Why was I alone?_

 

No, not alone. There was a touch... a small hand, cool, feminine. Familiar. It rested on my forehead for a moment, then I felt soft lips pressed to my cheek. I knew that touch. It promised friendship and support and... _family_.

 

There were other touches, too. A very large hand, very strong, rested on my head. It conveyed a sense of calmness, of silent strength, of deep caring. I knew that touch, too, had relied on that incredible strength many times.

 

There were a lot of different touches, many of then deft and professional, detached. I paid no attention to those. One touch though, while it was definitely professional, was different, as if this person understood the healing value of touch.

 

There was one touch that surprised me, although it probably shouldn't have. It was brief, a hand laid on my shoulder, a gentle squeeze, but it conveyed a sense of responsibility, an almost paternal concern.

 

But always in the background was that other presence, that... silent sentinel that guarded my sleep. The presence I had come to rely on. His touch was in turn gentle, desperate, supporting, cajoling, angry. So many raw emotions conveyed by his touch.

 

I can feel those strong fingers wrapped around my hand now, can actually feel the force of his personality pulling at me, promising me I'm not alone, urging me -- no _ordering_ me -- to fight harder, to leave the darkness behind, to come back, not to leave _him_ alone in the darkness.

 

I know what it's like to be alone in the dark. I can't do that to him.

 

So I concentrate, put all my strength into it, and from far away feel my fingers tighten feebly around his. I hear a choked exclamation and my hand is suddenly squeezed with a strength that nearly makes me wince. I manage to blink my eyes open and leave the darkness behind yet again.

 

Bloodshot brown eyes gaze down at me out of a face that is far too tired and much too worried. But the grin that is splitting that face takes years away, and the touch that has banished a hundred nightmares wraps me in a promise of quiet strength: I'm not alone. I'm safe.

 

"Welcome back, Danny."

 

It's good to be back.

 

***

 

**_SENSE OF TOUCH - The Rest of the Story_ **

 

  ** _Sense of Touch - Jack_**

There's a sort of joke going around here in the infirmary that they replaced those old hard plastic chairs with these new padded ones just for me. Because I have spent so much time on my ass in here waiting for a certain accident-prone archaeologist to wake up.

 

Only Fraiser said it's more than 'wake up' this time. She said wherever Danny is, he's very far away. I look at his peaceful, very pale face and rub a hand up and down his arm. Janet said contact couldn't hurt; she didn't say it would necessarily help... but it helps me. At least I feel like I'm doing _something_ , maintaining some contact with him, anchoring him somehow, letting him know I'm here. "Where are you, Danny?" I ask him, tightening my fingers on his arm. "What've I told you about running off on your own?"

 

That's how all this started. Of course. How else? By now I could write the script by heart: one alien planet, one curious archaeologist, one commanding officer who is routinely ignored as the civilian on his team wanders off to find new and better ways to get himself killed --

 

My anger actually drives me to my feet at this point and I have to relax my grip a bit on Daniel's arm so I don't involuntarily hurt him. Okay, that wasn't fair. Daniel never sets out to get himself damaged. It just seems to work out that way more times than not. If I had a grain of sense in my skull, I'd ground him. I'd keep his ass back here at Stargate Command where he'd be safe and leave the 'peaceful exploration' of usually- _un_ peaceful planets to trained soldiers who know how to take orders.

 

But I know I won't do that.

 

I sit back down on the padded chair and absently pat his arm as I study his lax features. He looks so young. He _is_ young. And he's so damned passionate about his work; he's worked so hard to be a diplomat, a peacemaker on all the worlds we visit. I wonder if, deep down inside, he doesn't feel some kind of weird responsibility because he's the one who figured out how to work the Stargate and open up the galaxy to Gate travel. That may be part of it, I guess, but the biggest part is that's just the way Daniel is. He truly believes in peace and universal understanding and that all life forms should work together to get along for the common good. I'd like that, too, but with rare exceptions, I haven't seen a lot of that on our travels. That's why Carter, Teal'c and I are there with our MP-5's and staff weapon, to keep him safe when he steps out front, throws up his hand and says, "Hi!" to the nearest life form.

 

Only on PCX929 there were no life forms to greet us. The planet, as far as we could tell, was deserted. The standing rocks with their strange carvings drew Daniel like a magnet, of course. He was over there running his fingers over the surface and muttering to himself before I could grab a fistful of his uniform jacket to stop him.

_***_

_"Daniel, for cryin' out loud! What have I told you about touching things!"_

_"They're just rocks, Jack." It was obvious he wasn't even listening to me, his mind had already leaped to the next time zone, leaving the rest of us behind as he mentally ran through God knew how many languages, Earth and alien, trying to decipher the writing._

_I gritted my teeth. "Teal'c, you and I will do the recon. Carter, you stay with Daniel and make sure he doesn't --"_

_"Ouch!"_

_I looked over sharply to see Daniel cradling his right hand, a look of puzzlement on his face as he stared at one of the standing stones._

_"What?" I was already on my way over, as were Carter and Teal'c. "What's wrong?"_

_"I don't know. I mean, I can't see any sharp edges on the stone or any insects or anything, but something just stung me or cut me or...something."_

_"Let me see." Carter gently took his hand and turned it over, searching for the wound. "Where is it?"_

_Distress becoming evident on his face, Daniel pointed to his index finger. "It's really starting to burn," he muttered._

_Carter glanced at me, then turned back to Daniel's hand, frowning. "I can hardly see it. It looks like a puncture wound or maybe --"_

_"Oh, shit!" Daniel yanked his hand away from Sam and pressed it to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. "Feels like my whole hand is on fire!"_

_By this time I had him by the arm and was snapping out orders. "Carter, dial us home." He was beginning to gasp a little  like he was having trouble breathing and I started to worry about some kind of allergic reaction to whatever it was that had bit him. The guy was allergic to half the plant and animal life on Earth; I didn't even want to think about what that might mean on an alien planet.  I slipped his arm around my shoulders. "Okay, Danny, let's get you over to the --"_

_Suddenly he gave a cry of pain and doubled over so sharply I nearly lost my grip on him. I caught him before he hit the ground and his eyes were wide with panic and pain as they locked with mine. "Oh, God! Jack! It hurts, it hurts... I think I'm gonna..."_

_And then he died._

_He died right there on PCX929._

_His heart stopped._

_And so did mine._

_***_

 

_There's no way you can do CPR in a wormhole. And we didn't dare try taking him through until he was breathing. I sent Teal'c through for medical help and Carter and I knelt there on that alien planet and tried to coax life back into Daniel's body._

_I don't remember much about all that. I remember counting and pressing down on his chest; the counting was the most important thing, had to get the count right. I didn't even notice when Fraiser's team got there and someone took over for Carter. I didn't notice anything until someone tried to pull me away from Daniel. Teal'c damn near got himself a black eye before I realized he was trying to get me out of the way so the medical team could take over._

 

***

 

I give my head a little shake to get rid of those memories and frown at the lax fingers I now have pressed between my hands. I don't remember picking up his hand. His fingers are cold and I rub them, trying to coax some warmth into them. I can't forget the look of panic in his eyes just before he collapsed.

 

Just before he died.

 

"You're not dead," I tell him sharply, leaning over inches from his face. "You hear me, Jackson? You. Are. Not. Dead. So you can just get that thought out of your head. This is your commanding officer speaking, and I'm telling you that you are alive, and you need to wake up _right now_."

 

I don't know what I was expecting. He never listens to me any other time, I don’t know why I expected him to listen to me this time.

 

I know the toxicology crew are working around the clock to try to find something to counteract the alien substance Fraiser found in his blood. And Sam and Teal'c have gone back to PCX929 to try to determine exactly what affected Daniel and bring back a sample, if possible.

 

Me, my place is here, keeping watch. My job is to hold onto him, to not let him drift away.

 

**_Sense of Touch - Sam_**

It's been two days, and the Colonel hasn't left his side.

 

I could've told Janet not to bother trying to bully him; I've seen the Colonel like this before with Daniel -- so has she for that matter -- and he's not budging. I come by every two hours, bring coffee and/or food, offer to relieve him, and get myself politely but firmly dismissed each time.

 

This time is no different. So I hand over the coffee and take up a spot on the other side of the bed. Daniel's my friend too, and I'm scared to death that this time we're really going to lose him. Every time I come in the Colonel is rubbing Daniel's arm or massaging his fingers, anything to keep contact with him. We don't know if he's aware of us, but I like to think somehow he feels our presence. All the IV's are in his right arm, where I'm sitting, so I lay a hand on his forehead, stroking it gently. The heat is all too evident, and I look up in alarm.

 

The Colonel nods wearily. "Fever," he says tersely. "They're monitoring it."

 

Not that they can do much about it, I think bitterly. Teal'c and I had been unsuccessful in finding whatever it was on PCX929 that had infected Daniel, and the tox lab hadn't been able to come up with any viable antidote. The best Janet could offer us was the hope that whatever was in Daniel's system would eventually run its course. In other words, he was on his own.

 

No, not on his own. Not while he's got us. Leaning over, I press a kiss to his cheek, just like I did when Machello had switched his consciousness into that frail, dying body. "We're here, Daniel," I whispered. "We're here with you. You're not alone." Resting my forehead briefly against his, I murmur, "Remember what I told you before, Daniel... don't you _dare_ die on me."

 

"You tell him, Major."

 

Looking up, I see approval in my commanding officer's tired eyes. I wonder how much sleep he's gotten in the last forty-eight hours, but I know better than to ask.

 

Settling back in my chair, I share this watch with my commander.

 

**_Sense of Touch - Teal'c_**

Colonel O'Neill has not moved from this room in two days and has refused both my offers and Major Carter's to relieve him.

 

Major Carter and I returned to PCX929 but were unable to locate the cause of Daniel Jackson's illness, and his conditions worsens. Doctor Fraiser has not been able to find a way to fight the poison in his body and she tells us she feels the crisis will come soon.

 

I can feel the growing fever in his body as I approach the bed. On the other side, O'Neill is holding Daniel Jackson's hand, and he is talking; I believe he is reciting what he has called a 'play-by-play' of a past hockey game. Major Carter said when she was last here, Colonel O'Neill was reading articles out loud from the sports pages of a newspaper and making rude comments about the various teams and their abilities. She said she did not believe it made a difference what was said as long as Daniel Jackson knew we were here. I concur.

 

I lay my hand on his head. The fever seems quite high, and I strive for calming thoughts, trying to convey both my presence and my regret that I was unable to protect him. If I could trade places with my young friend and take this illness into myself, I would do so.

 

"We are here, Daniel Jackson," I tell him. "Your friends are here and we await your return."

 

**_Sense of Touch - General Hammond_**

He looks bad. Doctor Fraiser said his chances are less than fifty-fifty, but I don't think she's told Jack that. Then again, from the look on the Colonel's face, he knows. There's not much that gets past him when it comes to his team, and especially this young civilian.

 

I remember my first encounter with Doctor Daniel Jackson -- he looked like a college kid playing at Lawrence of Arabia and he smelled like... well, I'd never quite smelled anything like that before. We didn't exactly meet under the best of circumstances, and we've had our share of disagreements over the last few years, but by God, I've never been ashamed to admit when I've been wrong, and I was wrong about him.

 

He's proven himself time and time again as a member of SG-1. Not only is he a brilliant scholar and a valuable resource to this command, but he has courage, integrity and honor. I'm damn proud to serve with him and call him a member of my command.

 

Now, standing here looking down at him, I wish I had told him that. I hope he knows. I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don't give up the good fight, son," I tell him. "We need you." SG-1 needs you. I don't think you realize how important you are to that team, to your friends.

 

I look at the haggard face of the man keeping watch. Jack looks like hell, but there's no point in telling him to go get some rest. This is a member of his team and this is where he belongs.

 

_**Sense of Touch - Janet Fraiser** _

I hate this. I really hate this. I hate being so helpless. I hate watching a patient... a friend slip away like this. I've done everything I can, I know that, but that's no consolation when you're facing a very personal grief.

 

Of all the times Daniel Jackson has been in my infirmary, of all his injuries and illnesses I've treated, of all the long nights I've sat here with Jack, waiting for Daniel to come back to us... I'm afraid this time he won't. The crisis is near and the alien poison that entered his body has depleted his resources terribly. He's fought hard to stay alive up to this point, but now he's so very weak. I've already informed General Hammond that I feel his chances are poor, that I don't expect him to live through the night.

 

It's late now, and I keep finding excuses to come in, hold his hand for a few minutes, talk to him, just be here. It's the only way I have now to say goodbye.

 

Jack sits there on the other side of the bed, Daniel's hand in his. He won't look at me. I think I know why. Like any good commander he refuses to accept defeat. I admire him for that, but I worry about what this will do to him when Daniel...

 

I rearrange an IV tube, then carefully take Daniel's hand in mine; sometimes this is all you can do for your patients, just be here, hold their hand, let them know you're here. You won't be forgotten, Daniel, I tell him silently. You have touched all our lives, and we are richer for having known you.

 

Having been both military and a physician for most of my adult life, I know better than most the dangers of becoming too involved with your patients. But suddenly I don't care. Leaning over, I press my lips against his forehead for just a moment, then I turn and leave.

 

Jack never said a word.

 

  _ **Sense of Touch - Jack**_

Day three.

Danny-boy, you're making me old before my time.

 

His fever broke a few hours ago. Janet never expected him to live through the night; she didn't tell me that, but I knew. She'd been coming in more and more frequently, fiddling around with the various IV tubes, checking his chart, taking his temperature and blood pressure. Just making excuses to be here, I think. Saying goodbye in her own way. I always suspected she had a soft spot for Daniel.

 

She wasn't the only one, it seemed. General Hammond stopped by last night. He said goodbye, too. Not in so many words, but that's what it was.

 

I lean over the bed, Daniel's hand clamped tightly in mine. "Well, I'm _not_ saying goodbye, Daniel," I ground out. "You hear that? No goodbyes here." Three days living on coffee and next to no sleep was finally catching up with me. I could feel my nerves starting to quiver. The fever had broken. Janet said that was the good news. But the bad news was... he was so tired. He had fought the good fight, as Hammond said, and he had precious little left to fight with. But no way was I letting him give up now. "I know you're tired, Danny, but you've got a job to do back here, we all do, and we can't do it without you. This base needs you, the team needs you, Sha're needs you..." I squeeze his hand as if I could press my own strength and force of will into him. "And, damn it, _I_ need you. So don't you _dare_ give up. Don't you dare leave me here alone."

 

Somehow I know this is our last stand. If I can't get him back now, he'll slip away and I'll lose him forever. Slumping in my chair, my eyes closed, I hold onto his hand and will him back. "Come on, Danny," I whisper. "I'm here. Hold onto me. Don't let go."

 

Then I feel it. It was barely a twitch, but I feel his fingers try to curl around mine. My head shoots up, my eyes fly open. "Daniel?" My hand grips his with sudden new strength, afraid to let go, afraid if I do...

 

His eyelids flutter, then slowly open.

 

My face hurts, and I suddenly realize it's because I'm smiling so hard. My eyes are burning too, and I have to blink to clear my vision. His lips move and I smile even harder when I recognize my name, even though no sound is coming out. That's my boy.

 

"Welcome back, Danny."

 

Welcome home.

 

 

**_end_ **

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
